Thanks to Doug Radunich for his column on playing in a band (“To play in a band means to dream big,” Feb. 28). I played in a band also, about 300 years ago. OK, so we drummers lie sometimes. But hey, at 56, looking back on your 20s and 30s gets a bit foggy. I was never smart enough to understand “real” notes, although a page full of jazz or Latin rhythm notes can make a guy feel pretty fulfilled when he gets through it. And I was never allowed to sing. I played for three different bands over 12 years. We played country, rock, and you-hum-it-we-play-it stuff. We were the house band for a couple of supper clubs and a couple of Elks clubs over the years, and played quite a few Friday-Saturday jobs or Thursday-Saturday jobs for a few places for a number of weeks or months. Some Friday nights were a test in sleep deprivation. We played on instinct. Saturday mornings were like heaven because we were able to catch up on the sleep. I reckon Radunich has been there and done that. The travel, the camaraderie, the dumpy motels — you’re right, being a supposed “rock star” doesn’t always get you a good time. I sure miss playing sometimes though. I’d give just about anything if I could sit down with the guys I spent the most time with over those years and just jam for an hour  or two.
Jeff Black
Grantsville